Stolen
by anthropologist
Summary: Post 6x24. Mark, Lexie, a grocery bag, some things that matter, and some things that don't.


**A/N:** I don't own Grey's Anatomy. Title taken from the song by Dashboard Confessional. Reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

Mark stands in front of Meredith's door, armed with a grocery bag full of Blockbuster rentals, some instant chicken soup, and a growing feeling of stupidity. This, he supposes, is probably one of his worst ideas, but he hasn't had much practice with the whole nice guy complex, so he figures he might as well just deflate his ego and cut himself some slack. Besides, the complete humiliation he feels in the pit of his stomach right now? It's all worth it, if it's for Lexie. He was stupid enough to forget it once, but he doesn't think he's going to forget again anytime soon.

She is the one who answers the door. He takes in her silly pajama pants with the cartoon characters, her messy hair, and her expression of surprise, and he tries to grin in an easygoing way, like his appearance isn't weird at all.

Lexie talks first. "Hi?" It comes out sounding like a question instead of a greeting, and he doesn't blame her. He can't help it – he laughs, and yet again he hates himself for not fighting harder for her before everything got so complicated. "Um. Derek's not home – he and Meredith are at the hospital, and so is Alex, he's still recovering from, well, what happened, so . . . everyone's out. Or, you know, in. Everyone's in. In the hospital, that is." Her cheeks burn bright red, and she lets her eyes slide over him, from his gray hair to the ratty sneakers he almost never wears to the paper bag in his right hand.

He ignores her rambling. "Can I come in? I brought stuff for you. Movies, chicken soup . . ." Lexie's eyes are wide and he feels like a freak, so he shrugs, embarrassed.

"I don't have the flu," she says, confusion colouring her voice. Her head is tilted at a slight angle, her bare foot reflexively reaching up to rub at her ankle. He can remember teasing her about this habit before, and the memory tugs on his heartstrings. "Did Meredith say something to you?"

"Nah," he adopts a casual tone, as if it's normal and he shows up at all of his ex-girlfriends' front doors unannounced. "I just heard that you hadn't come back to work yet since the shooting and I guess I just wanted to see how you were doing. I thought maybe you could use some company, or something." He wonders if he is being as obvious as he feels, wonders if she can see right through him and if she knows he just really misses her.

They stand in silence.

"You know, this was really stupid of me," Mark says self-deprecatingly, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand in a nervous gesture. He can't believe he ever thought this would go well, that he could just go from a manwhore to husband material all in the blink of an eye. "I'll just see you at work. Or something."

"No, wait," she says quickly. She is amazed that he came to her door just to be here for her. She always knew she was lucky to be one of the few people who got to see this side of Mark, the side that showed up with chicken soup and movies because he heard she was hurting and that knew she needed company even before she did. "I'd love it if you came in," she smiles earnestly. "I love it that you're here."

She opens the door wider and beckons him inside, and only when she closes the door behind him does she acknowledge that it scares her just how much she means those words.

* * *

"I'm still dating Alex," she feels the need to unburden as they sit on Meredith's couch, eating scalding chicken soup out of mismatched china bowls as some cheesy romantic comedy plays on the television screen in front of them.

He nods at the movie instead of at her. "I assumed as much," he says, going for a light tone and trying his best to keep all judgment and jealousy locked firmly inside.

She swallows. "I know he doesn't want me. I know it's Izzie he asked for, that day. But I can't stop feeling like he needs me to be there right now. And I feel like I should be, because it's the right thing to do." She seems to deduce the worst from his silence. "You don't have to understand what I'm saying, but I'm almost hoping you will."

"You do what you need to do, Lex," Mark says, not unkindly. He never expected her to come running back to him, just like she didn't expect him to understand her choices. But like her, he had hoped.

"Can I tell you something?" she asks tentatively. "I mean, it's not going to help anything, but I want you to know anyway."

He nods again, slowly. At this point, he figures it probably can't hurt any. And he's here for Lexie. He's here to share some of her pain, the best that he can, so that she doesn't have to feel it alone.

"I told Alex I loved him. And at the time, I meant it. But he was dying. He was dying and I couldn't do anything to help him. The doctor part of me, I really thought he would die. And I wanted to give him that, I wanted to give him those words. Because he was dying. And because I couldn't help." She pauses, takes a deep breath filled with sadness, and that's when he realizes he isn't shouldering any of her pain at all. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

He does. He knows what Lexie is trying to do in this moment, and he has to admit it helps a little, to have actual solid proof that she doesn't actually love Alex Karev. But at the same time, it still isn't what he was honestly hoping to hear, and he's not sure if it's enough to hold him together.

"I miss you," he says, turning to lock eyes with her, and he can almost pretend she's the same Lexie with the brown hair and the juice boxes. The longing swells in his chest and curls around his heart, squeezing tightly without a hint of mercy.

"I miss you too," she whispers. "But right now, I can't do this with you. I'm not ready yet."

* * *

She meant it, but they fall into bed together anyway.

The sex is just as fantastic as they remember, but there's something that reminds them both of an ending rather than a beginning. He can't bring himself to believe it's the last time they'll ever do this, so he tries not to make it feel like a goodbye. Mark loses track of exactly how many times he says he loves her, and how many times she gasps his name like it's the only word she knows.

After, they focus on the ceiling instead of each other, and that's when he knows that he is going to need to lower his expectations for a while.

"I love you," Lexie says, and he takes notice of the tears evident from her shaky voice. "You don't know how much I wish it mattered."

In the darkness, he grasps her hand, though he isn't sure of what the gesture means, or if his next words are more for her sake or his own. "It matters."

And even in the midst of an ending, he still hopes that it does.


End file.
